


Prayers for a Mutilated World

by in_unison_with_a_dying_sun



Category: Hello Charlotte (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Backwards Speech, C is their own character separate from Charles and Vincent, Crucifixion, F/F, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Mysticism, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Scarification, Stigmata, You Have Been Warned, heretic C, this is probably going to get really fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_unison_with_a_dying_sun/pseuds/in_unison_with_a_dying_sun
Summary: "The psychic plants can only express pain through beauty and silence."A new take on C as a concept, and an in-depth glimpse at the mysterious connection they have with Charlotte Wiltshire, who seems to have the worst luck on the planet.
Relationships: Charlotte Wiltshire/C
Kudos: 1





	Prayers for a Mutilated World

Divinity is like a velvet wound; like a flower made out of scar tissue and jagged thorns; like hollowing dogs and hallowed gods.

Charlotte wasn't sure how she ended up at an all-girls Catholic school. Her parents were frequently away on business and were secular, or so she thought. Umbrella Man sat her down on his knee one day and told her it was because she had been bullied mercilessly in a public school setting. He bounced her lightly while smirking and drinking his earl grey tea, telling her not to worry, and, perhaps she would make a new friend. "Yes, dear girl, perhaps a new friend for you." He laughed jovially. Then, he leaned in and hissed "Better than all those imaginary ones you think exist inside this house, you delusional little girl." into her ear. Charlotte shuddered, but it was like her mind couldn't process what he just said.

And so, she showed up at a looming, concrete building on Monday. It was clear the architect was a fan of brutalism; the more dour and dreary the better. To make matters worse, there was a torrential downpour, and she hadn't brought her umbrella. When she was safely inside she was drenched and her uniform clung to her uncomfortably, dripping water on the floor, and causing everyone else (who were fortunate enough to have umbrellas or to be dropped off at the door) to gaze at her in bemusement. As she placed her damp backpack inside her locker, she could hear the whispers of the other girls echoing around her. Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised later when the whispers later turned into taunts and thinly-veiled threats.

Nor, should Charlotte have been surprised when she was given a rather cold welcome by the nun presiding over homeroom and told to sit at the back of class. She was to be deskmates with the school's most unfortunate soul, Cecilia.

Cecilia, or Cici, had long white hair tied back in a ponytail, pale olive skin, and green eyes the color of a bog at dusk. Her left eye was glass and sometimes rolled about lazily. Cecilia also had crooked teeth, an even more crooked spine which forced her to resort to using a cane, knobby knees, and strange marks on her hands and wrists that she covered up with fingerless gloves. She also, much to the bewilderment and revulsion of teachers and classmates alike, smelled of rot and spoke backwards. 

Cecilia the heretic, Cecilia the supposedly demon-haunted girl, Cecilia the delusional mystic. The most reviled person in school, and in the small, remote town in general. She had weekly exorcisms, was prayed over by priest and bishop alike, and was beaten with paddles to try and drive the stench of Gehenna out of her. All efforts did nothing to stop the eerie, bent glossalia of dry, arid sunlight. Instead, it made her glossalia more ghostly sounding, like that of a wormwood star collapsing into the ocean.

If you were unlucky, you could catch her murmuring in tongues in the dingy bathrooms during lunch hour. While the good catholic children turned up their clean, unbesmirched noses at the girl who had been so clearly stained by the rotting earth itself, Charlotte found the luminous heretic to be fascinating. She found the upperclassman sprawled out on the dirty checkerboard tile, muttering gutturally in a language only she could understand. 

"Cecilia is the Whore of Babylon." Saith the bathroom prophets in red marker on the bathroom wall. It was rumored Cecilia was a prostitute in her free time. In truth, she had been a victim of human-trafficking as a child, according to her records. In another version of the truth, the superstitious people should've minded their own business and bitten their tongues.

"Cecilia is the Wheel of Samsara." read another mysterious message. This one was written in hurried cursive with an inky-black pen.

The yellow bulb in the dimly-lit bathroom flickered every few seconds like static on a television screen. "Can you hear it? It is the sound of my voice trapped inside fragile filament, Silent Flower. Nac uoy raeh ti? Ti si eht dnuos fo ym eciov deppart edisni eligarf tnemalif, Tnelis Rewolf." Rasped the heretic girl. 

They say the flickering lightbulb in a dirty bathroom is the closest we'll ever get to hearing God.

"Silent…Flower?" Charlotte stuttered in confusion. Cecilia hissed, as if in some sort of unknown spiritual pain.

"The plants can only express pain through beauty and silence. Eht stnalp nac ylno sserpxe niap hguorht ytuaeb dna ecnelis." was the guttural response. The bathroom suddenly felt warm, as if sunlight had filtered in through the tiny cracks despite the harsh, arctic air outside.

Charlotte shouldn't have been surprised by the rumors her classmates began to spread about her, calling her a walking STD, fish factory; saying she had the intelligence of an amoeba; and saying she had been expelled by her previous school for behavioral problems. She wasn't surprised, except for the fact that these same classmates turned up to mass every friday looking pious and angelic.

"We're pure and chosen by God! Sorry, we don't make the rules, Charlotte Wiltshire! Maybe if you pray enough, God will wash the stain away." Giggled a girl by the name of Yulia Malachi, whose father was a deacon.

Charlotte sighed as her rosary slipped through her fingers and clattered on the floor. She was sitting in the chapel, disassociatively murmuring her prayers when she heard the sound of something moving around harshly within the walls. Curiously, she got up and walked to the violet tapestry hanging at the very front of the chapel. She fumbled around beneath it and found a strange, hidden door. As she opened it, she discovered Cecilia tied to a bed with several priests surrounding her, shouting exorcism prayers and shaking holy water bottles. The girl was drenched from said holy water, babbling incoherently in tongues and almost sneering in pain at the men of faith, and stripped down naked. Her hands, now uncovered, revealed blushing red stigmata; swollen and raw with blood.

"Begone unclean spirit! Take thy filth and exit this house of god!" Roared one of the priests, named Fr. Levi. The girl growled low in response.

"Why cause this false stigmata, demon? Have you come to shame the holy wounds of Christ?" Shouted another.

Finally, defeated and tired, the priests stopped their efforts and left the small room, not noticing the white-haired girl peering at them from behind the tapestry. After making sure they were gone, Charlotte snuck into the room and gazed at her upperclassman.

"I sense you, Silent Flower. Come to me. I esnes uoy, Tnelis Rewolf. Emoc ot em." Cecilia murmured. Charlotte blushed, suddenly feeling shy, and quietly walked over to the stigmatic, untying the bloodstained cloths linking her wrists to the bed frame. "Have you come to spit on God as well? Evah uoy emoc ot tips no Dog sa llew?" Rasped the girl, clearly in some sort of psychic pain. Charlotte suddenly felt sad and gazed downward.

"G-God…? Wha…what…what do you mean?" She asked curiosily.

"I am a god of this world, a chosen victim soul. I ma a dog fo siht dlrow, a nesobc mitciv luos." Cici continued, laying limply on the bed while bloody sweat dripped from her brow, chanting backwards. Charlotte took the edge of her sleeve and mopped up some of the blood. The feeble girl looked as if she had been the victim of a massacre, and in a way, she had.

Suddenly, the door clattered open and several priests rushed in, ushering the confused girl out with harsh scoldings. She was taken to the headmaster's office and given no less than 9 sharp spankings, and was told, under any circumstances, was she to talk about the events she had witnessed that. Charlotte left school with violet bruises and tears streaming down her face, wondering why she couldn't do anything right.


End file.
